"You are in the South," reads the billboard for a local brand of pastiche as we fly down the D629. But we had already guessed that from the hot, Texas style weather, ripe peaches, olive orchards, how the sunflower fields have turned into vineyards. The warmth of the people is confirmation that we are indeed in the South--more a state of mind than a function of latitude.
Life is slow here. Historic town centers are empty. The locals have escaped to the beach for traditional August vacations, or to American-style commercial centers on the outskirts of towns.
We arrived in Carcassonne at dusk, just in time for a quick stroll through the 12th-century castle (Le Cite) that rests on the hilltop above the new (only several hundred years young) city below. Tourists meander like termites over the grey cobbles of the old fortress. We have our brief fill of this UNESCO World Heritage Site, and then head further up the hill to a secluded field to pitch our tent.
We spend the next day catching up--laundry with fellow expats, some on-line work at McDonald's, attempted baths in fountains and sinks. The sky begins to grow ominous toward evening, and we can feel the temperature drop. We end up sleeping under a large stone arch of the pedestrian bridge that leads from the new city to the castle, a perfect shelter for Bertetto and Co.
But just when you think everything is working well with Bertetto, something breaks. This time it was a brake cable snapping, and we knew we'd have to fix it before we went much further. We made our way to the American-style shopping district on the fringe of town, found the Decathlon, and loaded up on brake cables. Jesse converted the entrance of the Leader Price into his workshop while Paige did the next day's shopping.
Just as the job was almost finished, a friendly fellow shopper offered to help fixing Bertetto. His fluent English and friendly demeanor made conversation easy. And if anyone ever claims that the French are univerally brusque, they need to meet Jean Marc. Within 15 minutes of meeting us, he had helped Jesse fix Bertetto and offered us a place to stay and a ride through the pouring rain in his truck. And just when we thought we had seen the limits of hospitality, he made us dinner, filled our glasses with beer and cider, and helped us to improve our French. In the morning, he provided us with two additional brake levers.
Bertetto, as quirky and rusty as he is, has a way of making friends. Merci bien, Jean Marc!
stuffing the baby trailer into the back of Jean Marc's truck:
placing Bertetto on top of Jean Marc's truck:
Jean Marc
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